


In which Tarvek has an epiphany

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: unreliable narrators [9]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Mid-Canon, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 02:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14487069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: Also just, so many feels.





	In which Tarvek has an epiphany

Tarvek was minding his own business, thinking of ways to keep everyone alive, when Gil suddenly reached toward his face. Tarvek flinched away from the touch. 

“What are you doing?!”

It seemed a reasonable enough question, but Gil looked stricken. Tarvek’s mind reeled through a series of quick somersaults. Gil wanted to touch him. Gil. Wanted. To touch. Him. Tarvek tried to swallow the sudden dryness in his mouth. 

“That looks infected,” Gil said. Tarvek’s spirits plummeted, but his breathing returned to normal. Of course. Medical interest. Nothing to shout about. 

“It’s just the poison,” Tarvek said, a bit short in his disappointment. “It’s fine.”

Gil advanced on him. “Let me see.”

Shaking his head, Tarvek backed away. “It’s fine,” he repeated. 

Gil demonstrated that talent he had for never letting anything go. “Just let me—”

“No,” Tarvek interrupted, retreating. Annoyance turned to ire, but both bled into alarm when his back bumped against the wall. 

“I want to—”

“ _No_ ,” Tarvek repeated, trying to steady the racing of his heart. Gil loomed before him now, a blockade of muscle cutting off any possible escape.  _This is Gil_ , he reminded himself.  _Gil needs me alive_. 

It didn’t help. 

“Just for a moment—” Gil reached for him again, and Tarvek only just stopped himself from striking the offending hand away. 

“GILGAMESH, STOP!” he bellowed instead, letting enough Spark into his voice to get Gil’s attention. 

Gil shifted his weight back onto his heels. He stared in that wide-eyed Gilly confusion, and his hand slowly sank to his side. Tarvek felt the nearness of him, felt the heat in his own face, and he drew a shuddering breath. He wanted to run. He wanted to throw himself into the arms of the very man who had just frightened him. He wanted to swear and he wanted to lash out, but he might never get another chance like this…

“It’s going to scar if it goes untreated,” Gil mumbled. “You hate facial scars.”

Under ordinary circumstances, yes. A cut to his face from anyone else would mean he had been careless. “I will proudly wear a scar from a Night Master.” Tarvek clenched his fists, trying to summon anger to drown out the cyclone of emotions within him. He could do this. “You need to listen when someone tells you to stop.”

“I wanted to help.”

Tarvek had expected Gil to respond with anger, with indignation, even with righteous wounded pride. What he saw before him he could only describe as hangdog. Tarvek steeled himself against pity. 

“You ignored me when I refused. If you try that with Agatha, she will  _destroy_  you.” Unless sad puppy faces managed to save him. 

Gil fidgeted. “I didn’t mean…” He fumbled his words and tried again. “I don't…”

“Of course you meant it, you idiot.” The thought of Gil forcing him back against the wall loomed large in Tarvek’s memory. He closed his eyes for a moment, took slow breaths to steady himself.  _Don’t mess this up_. 

“Sorry.”

What. For a moment, Tarvek’s lungs refused air, his brain stopped, and his heart hammered as though it might shake his body apart. Had Gil ever apologized to him for anything? His words tumbled out before he could make them orderly. “For presuming to know what’s best for me? Or for making me feel like you were going to dislocate my limbs to keep me from running away?” Idiot. If he made Gil feel attacked now, he could ruin everything. No lesson learned. No future apologies. “No, no,” Tarvek said, “don’t answer that. Just try to disconnect that Wulfenbach-knows-best valve so you can  _listen_  to people.”

“I don't… I’ll try,” Gil amended. An uncertainty hovered about his crinkled brow, and Tarvek wanted to smooth it away with a gentle touch. 

“I know you will,” he said instead. “You’ll try, and you’ll fail, and you’ll get angry and remember to try again. Just… don’t give up.”  _For me. Please._

“I can if I want to.”

Ah, yes, there was the petulant response Tarvek had expected. “If you want to be an idiot,” he grumbled. Was he playing along, or was he genuinely put out?

“Wouldn’t it be nice to be right about me for a change?”

Sometimes, actually, being wrong made for a lovely surprise. Tarvek could feel a headache coming on. 

“Are the two of you finished with whatever Romanian courtship ritual this is?”

Gil flinched at Ms. Thorpe’s words. Perhaps he had forgotten about her altogether. “I’m not Romanian,” Tarvek said with a grimace. 

Gil rounded on him, ready for a fight. “Did you  _tell_  her?”

About what? About their betrothal? Probably, guessing from the fear and confusion in Gil’s eyes. “No, but I think you’re about to,” Tarvek said, trying not to smile. 

“I can’t do that! Everyone will want to kill you!”

Tarvek stared. His heart pounded as though making a frantic bid for freedom. Gil loved him. He might as well have said so. The world seemed to tilt off its axis. What would he do? How would they survive this mess? How in the world would Tarvek stop himself from blushing?

People wanting to kill him. Right. 

“Explain to me how that’s novel,” he said. “Use the smallest words in your vocabulary.” There, yes, Gil looked annoyed now. Much better. 

“Gentlemen,” Ms. Thorpe said. “Everyone already knows.”

Not about this. Likely not even Gil knew. Especially Gil, Tarvek supposed. Well, for now he would hold that secret close to his heart and guard it with all his strength. He caught Gil looking at him, and he could not quite hide his smile. The two of them just might survive their betrothal after all.


End file.
